"From The Mekong and On"
NOTE* Written over the course of a three month journey through Southeast Asia in the late summer of 2009, primarily while sailing on the slow churning muddy waters of the Mekong Delta.
We are driftwood floating in a never stopping,
inconsiderate river of water translucent
with time and mud.
The water is old, the water is new and no matter
how much we kick and push we remain debris
in a subtle flood.
We float to the surface and we dip down below,
the tide rises, we kick, we push, the river swells
with tears and fears and blood.
The flora, the fauna it all seems plain as I search
around in vain. There I realize, floating in the mud,
she is the flower, pedal, stem and bud.
We swam rivers of time and chased tomorrow
down the current. We built rafts out of promises
and it's sails our of fear.
We laughed sorrow and cried joy and with every
sob the river grew as if we carried a storm in
Our world grew and shrunk at the same time,
we lived in mansions of glory and shacks of wine,
year after year after year.
Our love crawled like wild flowers on the wild
sandy plains. Our knowledge the food that fed
those flowers far and near.
Our relationship was a work of art. The world
was our infinite canvas and our love was the
We got lost in each other and found our way.
Together we walked the path of reward and
not of complaint.
We raced forward and swore we'd never look
back. We ran towards a golden tomorrow, with
every stride our past grew faint.
It was perfect. We were a silent scream.
A freshwater lake of freedom.
A rebellious saint.
written under the influence by